


L'appel du vide

by profligate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jealousy, Obsession, Seer, Stalking, malicious magical intent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profligate/pseuds/profligate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colourless and tranquil, she stared at him from the end of the hallway. She spoke as she began to back into the shadows, prefect badge gleaming. "Your path is set in stone, there is no going back. Return to sleep, Tom Riddle. You have much to accomplish before the year is through." And she was gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tread

The first time Tom Riddle enters Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, what draws his eye, is the ceiling. While not uncommon, the boy spends only a brief moment glancing at the enchanted stone before moving on. His peers gaze up in awe with their heads craned back, fascinated by the display of magic. Riddle is unamused at their ridiculous behaviour. It is only a ceiling, after all. His eyes land on the wizard who brought him here. Dumbledore, he recalls. Riddle's childish face twists unpleasantly at the sight of the suspicious old wizard, his eyes hardening. The older wizard's intolerant attitude irritated the boy. He rather liked getting his way.

"He'll be bothersome, I can feel it." he thinks, tracing his fingers over his wand idly. He looks away.

The next thing he sees is a girl, staring quite intently at him. The colors on her robes mean nothing to him, at this point in time, and he regards her with cold curiousity. Even as a boy, he is a creature of few interests. But she has his attention, for now. Her hair is a color somewhere between brown and blonde, though he can't quite pinpoint which. Later in his life, he will concur that it's a useless task and will promptly abandon it. Her face is a face to him, nothing special about it. As he nears the stool to be sorted, he can spot freckles scattered across her nose. 

But it is her expression that fascinates him the most. 

Her mouth is open in a round O of surprise, eyes wide. Her hands grip the table so hard that her shoulders are tense with the strain. No one around her seems to notice, all eyes pointed towards the dais as the first years take their places.

Tom Riddle looks away, and climbs the steps. The hat doesn't touch his head before his fate is screamed throughout the Hall. He climbs onto the benches of his new home and looks to her once again, curious.

What he finds disturbs him.

Her face is impassive, mouth shut and eyes blank. Her hands are sitting placidly under the table, her posture relaxed. Almost as if she had known. Her eyes capture his and the young boy feels something shift in his gut.

Why was she so insistent? He is quite sure they had never met, nor has he seen her in his life.

Intent on his future, he pushes her away from his thoughts and begins to forge his niche in the noble House of Slytherin. 

It would not be long before she creeps back in again.

\---

A week from Halloween, Tom Riddle encounters her in the hallway leading to the kitchen. 

It is precisely 2:34 a.m.

His hand reaches up to tickle the pear when movement catches his eye. Quickly, the child points his wand in her direction, eyes narrowed. He is not as educated in protecting himself as he would like to be, but he has managed up to this point. The orphanage was no wizarding school, however.

She melts out of the darkness, seemingly casting it off like a shroud, repelling it from herself. Her taller frame dwarfs him but he is not bothered. She's just a girl, after all. He later learns that this is his first mistake.

Her eyes move over his wand, pausing at the unusual coloration of the wood. When her eyes meet his, Riddle very nearly loses control of his magic and attacks her.

"Perhaps the next time you wish to go for a nighttime stroll, you will take precautions." her voice is low, but she does not draw closer.

His wand is unwavering, still pointed squarely at her chest, the shiny badge on the corner of her robes glaring at him. Her head tilts, the unnameable hair shifting with it. 

"Twenty-two minutes ought to be enough, so make haste." 

Before he can reply, or decide if he wants to, she turns and melts back into the shadows of the corridor, her steps light.

Riddle slips into the kitchens and labors to restrain his sneer for the house-elves, only until discovering that it isn't necessary. He quells his hunger with lightly buttered rolls and watches the clock suspiciously. 

With his ear cocked to the portrait, exactly twenty-one minutes and fifteen seconds later, he hears footsteps and tenses. They fade forty five seconds later, after a pause in front of the pear. 

He is quick on his feet on the way to the dungeons and ignores the quiet stares of the portraits.

Tom Riddle desires something for the first time at Hogwarts. 

And it is a name.


	2. Curse

It takes Tom Riddle several months, but eventually he gains enough influence in Slytherin to begin his search. He has nothing more than a vague description and thinly veiled impatience to aid him and he quickly discovers that his classmates are little to no help. Upperclassmen are hesitant towards him, sensing his ambition. Tom has quite the collection of secrets at this point however, and they do not resist him.

This is Tom's first lesson at Hogwards: secrets can make slaves of anyone. 

There are many prefects throughout the castle, however and Tom curses himself for not recalling what color her robes were. Later in his four poster bed, two years later, he will recall that she wore a cloak with her colors shielded. Almost as if she knew he would look for her. Absurdly preoccupied by the whole venture Tom decides to abandon it in favor of building his collection further, slinking about the castle at all hours of the night.

The ghosts know him and he makes it a point to befriend the young, beautiful one. Her eyes are sad and her mouth a thin line, but he sees the spark of cleverness in her eyes and files her away for later use.

Tom learns his second lesson on a winter night near the Astronomy Tower: she will always find him when he least expects it.

Having followed two fifth years up to the tower, he quickly turns back to the stairwell once the sounds of their activities reach his ears. Soft muted sighs and the shuffle of clothing disgust him and he feels bile rising in his throat.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Riddle."

Her voice startles him but he grits his teeth and refuses to jolt in surprise. Tom turns quickly and whips out his wand, centering it on her chest. Colourless eyes gaze down at him calmly.

"How do you know my name? And why are you following me about in the night?" he demands.

The young woman tilts her head and looks back over her shoulder at the astronomy tower, a small smile twisting her lips. Tom wonders at the rage in his stomach and wishes to curse her. His trips to the library have revealed little to nothing however, and the best he could do was give her a slight rash. He swallows his anger.

"Not you, Mr. Riddle. The complexities of student nightlife may escape you, but I have responsibilities. Those include patrolling the halls while others sleep." This is the most he has heard her speak and he finds that her voice disturbs him. It is like water, her inflection and cadence smooth and soft. It doesn't carry throughout the hallway, this he admires though he will never tell a soul.

He doesn't reply and she waits a beat, examining him steadily before turning quietly on her heel and down the hall. 

Tom hesitates before speaking.

"And your name? You know mine, it's only fair."

The witch stops immediately and whirls around, clear eyes turned cold. 

"And when in your life, will you ever play fair, Tom Riddle?" Her voice is a thin whisper but for the first time her voice echoes throughout the hall. Portraits open their eyes and stare not at Tom, but at the witch before fleeing their frames. The hall is empty when she speaks again.

"But alas, your curiosity does me no favors, Tom Riddle. You may call me Cassandra."

And she is gone into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found a bit more inspiration for this story. Any feedback?

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something that popped into my head a few years ago. Updates to come, perhaps.


End file.
